Kill Your Double - But Not in the World Meeting!
by eleanoralovesananias
Summary: America's wacky and not-entirely-human kids, angsty Nightvale and his manic twin Desert Bluffs, crash a World Meeting. Confusion, hilarity, magic and tentacles ensue.
1. Chapter 1

**Update my other stories? Haha, that's too mainstream. (_Don't kill me please_)**

* * *

America smiled. It was an unusually peaceful World Meeting; Canada was for once at least acknowledged as existing, if not getting listened to much, Russia was watching with a less-creepy-than-usual smile and occasionally even interjecting with reasonable suggestions, Italy was awake and Romano was surprisingly quiet, while Spain kept his hands to himself for a change, and even England and France were behaving themselves. This kind of meeting was rare and treasured by everyone, and the one who did or said anything to make it dissolve back into chaos would get glares if not blows.

When Germany finished with his speech about global warming, America got up to speak. He cleared his throat. "So, you guys have probably heard about the racial shootings in my country," he began abashedly. "And um, I just wanted to make it our priority to put racial issues front and center in our -"

"DAD! GET DESERT BLUFFS AWAY FROM ME! HE'S GOT BLOOD ALL OVER HIM AND HE'S TRYING TO MAKE ME JOIN HIS STUPID STREXCORP!"

"Heehee, little Nightvale is so cute! You should smile more, Nightvale! Give me a _big HUG_ HELPLESS LITTLE CHILD HAHAHAHAAAHA!"

"AAH GET AWAY FROM ME! I HAVE A BLOODSTONE! I HAVE A BLOODSTONE!"

America froze. _No. No, no, not now. Not now!_ England turned around in confusion - oh God, _England _was there. That pre-humiliation chill was already settling over him.

Slowly - ever so slowly - the superpower turned around to face the two preteens in the doorway, his lips set tightly in a practiced smile. "The incorporated and dimensionally-shifted towns of Nightvale and Desert Bluffs," he said quietly through the screams and attempted spells (Nightvale's) and the maniacal laughter (Desert Bluffs'), his voice deadly sweet.

Both towns stopped.

"Turn to face me, please," America coaxed, his voice sugary. Both boys slowly did as he asked, guilt written on their faces. The assembled nations gaped at America's children. The one America had called Nightvale had large violet eyes - _three _of them - with long lashes, curly blonde hair, and a fierce pout, as well as what appeared to be small _tentacles _waving lazily out from under his shirt. The other one, who had been called Desert Bluffs, looked greatly like his brother - enough for them to be twins. His hair was a darker dirty blonde and had been allowed to grow down to his chin, his eyes were a luminescent yellow, his skin more tanned, and his third eye appeared to have been sewn shut. But the most disconcerting difference was that Desert Bluffs' clothes were soaked through with what appeared to be human blood. The slick red substance coated his hands and face and everything he wore, the coppery smell permeating the room.

"Yes, Dad?" Nightvale ventured guiltily.

"Look at my face."

Both boys did so, and paled.

"You have ten seconds to run."

They ran for their lives.


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone wanted to nose their way into the incident at the meeting, but America held them all back with a firm, "Later. This is a meeting," and managed to corral the rubbernecking nations out at the end of the meeting. All, that is, except for his close family. The American had decided that, as difficult as it would be, his family needed to know about its newest members. He also held out hope that England and his friends might be able to tame Nightvale's feral power into something more productive and less likely to summon ram gods from the depths of time or trap a Russian town in 1983. (Luckily that Russian town also ceased to have ever existed, otherwise America would have had some tough explaining to do.)

He closed the door behind the other twenty or so nations who had attended the meeting, and turned with a sheepish smile to face an intrigued France, a concerned and slightly irate England, and a shocked Cana-something. The American folded his hands behind his back and let his blue gaze drop to the floor: embarrassed, yes, but also strategizing. How to do this with as few injuries as possible?

Suddenly, he looked up, his brilliant smile back in place. "You guys sit down for a second. I will be _right _back."

America knocked on Nightvale's door first. The preteen poked his blond head through the door. His shirt was off, a multitude of small prepubescent tentacles curling from his sides and and chest. His room was painted a deep purple, the walls plastered with posters for Night Vale Community Radio, the Night Vale Spiderwolves, and Dark Owl Records. A paper plate rested precariously on his headboard, a slice of Big Rico's pizza dripping off of it. Boy Scout badges littered his shelves: Cub Scout, Boy Scout, Eagle Scout, Blood Pact Scout, Weird Scout, and Dreadnaught Scout. America had forced his son to quit the Scouts after learning what happened to the poor souls who attained the rank of Eternal Scout, but the preteen kept his old badges as a sign of defiance to his father, angry at the injustice of having his life saved.

"Yeah?" asked Nightvale. There was a small stone in his hand etched with a detailed human heart. America recognized it as one of the strange "bloodstones" he still didn't know the significance of. "I mean; yes, Dad?" the boy amended, mistaking America's worried look for one of disapproval.

The nation managed to smile at his son. "Guess what, kid?"

Nightvale's eyes widened. "The Sheriff's Secret Police decided to execute all prisoners in the Hole In The Vacant Lot Out Back Of The Ralph's?"

America's response was a long stare.

"What?" Nightvale defended. "You told me to guess."

America clapped his son on the shoulder, careful not to touch the boy's tentacles. He'd been freaked out ever since he found out (through hands-on, if accidental, experience) that some of them were erogenous. "You're gonna meet the rest of our family."

Nightvale's eyes lit up like small, round, purple stars. They began shining so bright that America's shirt, where he was focusing, looked like a disco dance floor. "Really, Dad? Our nation family? Like from Europe? Are we related to Luftnarp?"

"Yes, yes, mostly, and what the heck is 'Luftnarp'?"

Nightvale stared at America like he was stupid. "Luftnarp. It's a country in Europe, duh. All the people there have grey skin and huge mouths. Cecil talked about it one the radio."

"Um."

Nightvale squeezed past America and started to run down the hallway. America grabbed his shoulder. "Whoa there, kid. We have to get Desert Bluffs first."

Nightvale slowly turned his head a full 180 degrees to stare at his father. "You're kidding, right?"

America grimaced.

Desert Bluffs was leaning against his door frame, his entire attention focused on what appeared to be a handset shaped like a dimly glowing yellow pyramid. He was staring into the depths of it, murmuring numbers, his eyes flicking as if he were in deep REM sleep. "10... 358... 92..."

"Desert Bluffs."

The yellow-eyed preteen appeared not even to hear him, merely increased the speed and urgency of his murmurings. "65, 73, 284, 910, 1050, 26..."

"Desert Bluffs! Look at me!"

Desert Bluffs began to rock back and forth, the yellow pyramid glowing brighter and brighter along with the boy's bright yellow eyes. His pupils shrunk to the size of poppy seeds as he whispered numbers in a seemingly random sequence and ever-increasing speed. "70 43 69 108 532 40"

"THE DESERT BLUFFS METROPOLITAN AREA!"

"SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIVE TWENTY-SEVEN EIGHTY-FIVE SIX"

"DESERT BLUFFS!"

"FIFTY-FIVE EIGHT HUNDRED NO NO I'M WORKING I'M WORKING DON'T STOP ME FORTY-FIVE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIX"

SMACK.

The pyramid dropped to the floor and Desert Bluffs gasped like he'd been woken from a nightmare. His eyes dimmed to their normal intensity and his pupils grew back to their usual large round shape. He turned to stare at America. "I was _working_," he stated, sounding appalled. "You _stopped _me from _working_."

America chose to ignore this. "Desert Bluffs, go get a clean shirt on. It's time to meet your family."


End file.
